Taken by Storm Read Online Free

surprise. A man stood there, a stained hat clenched between his stubby fingers.
    “Can I help you?” Colin asked.
    The man put out a thick, broad hand. “Name’s John McCarthy. Just wanted to stop by and thank ye for savin’ that dog today—he belongs t’ me son, ye know. The wife baked ye a loaf of bread f’r yer services; I put it there on the table.”
    Setting the lantern down, Colin returned the handshake. He thanked the man and heard himself making some inane comment about what a good patient Homer had been.
    “I know ye don’t remember me,” the farmer went on, the lantern light gleaming off his balding head as he gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the vials and jars of salves, pills, and powders that competed for his attention on the wall-shelves. “But I came to the talk ye gave last week at the lecture hall, the one on lameness in the horse. Enjoyed it a real lot, Mr. Lord. Thank ye for leavin’ out all those eee-ses and oh-ses so that us plain folk could know what ye was talkin’ about.”
    Colin nodded, smiling in amusement as the man screwed up his brow and peered at a bottle of pills whose cobalt color he seemed to find particularly attractive.
    “I, uh . . . I’m sorry to be botherin’ ye, ‘specially at this hour when ye probably want to go home and eat yer supper, but . . . well, I was wonderin’, Mr. Lord, if ye might suggest a remedy for me little mare. She’s got a cold—you know, runny eyes ‘n’ nose an’ the whole lot, and I’ve already had her bled once. It didn’t do no good, sir, and I was just wonderin’ what you , bein’ one of these new vet-rinarians , think I ought t’ do.”
    “Do you have her with you, Mr. McCarthy?”
    “Well, er, no . . . figgered she was best left at home since she was feelin’ so poorly.”
    Overhead, rain began to drum softly upon the roof, and Colin felt his leg throbbing right along with it. Leaning against the examination table to take the weight off it, he bent his head, raking a hand through his hair and pushing it back off his brow.
    “F’rgive me, Mr. Lord. Ye look tired—I can come back in the mornin’—”
    “No, no, I’m fine, really.” Colin looked up and gave a reassuring smile, his mind drifting back to the woman. The memory of that pixie face would put off any hopes of a peaceful night’s sleep, as surely as the pain that was plaguing his leg. “About your little mare . . .”
    “Do ye think I ought t’ get her bled again, Mr. Lord?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “But the farrier said—”
    “I know what the farriers say,” Colin said, with more sharpness than he intended. “ And the cow leeches, and the surgeons, and my own colleagues, even. Phlebotomy is the accepted treatment for everything from colic to pneumonia. But it is cruel and unnecessary, and I don’t believe in it. Cover your little mare with a blanket instead, give her a hot bran mash, get her away from your other stock so she does not infect them, and rest her from her work for a day or so.”
    McCarthy stared at him for a moment, mentally digesting the information. Then he nodded, slowly. “Blanket, bran mash, and rest,” he said, counting off on his fingers. “No bleeding.”
    “No bleeding.”
    He pumped Colin’s hand, beaming with gratitude. “Thankee, sir. Much obliged. And what do I owe ye for yer good advice?”
    “Not a thing. Just your promise that you won’t have her bled. And please, if she doesn’t improve, send for me and I’ll come take a look at her, personally.”
    “I’ll do that, Mr. Lord.” Smiling, the farmer clapped his hat down atop his balding pate and reached for the door. “Thanks again . . . and I’m sorry for botherin’ ye.”
    “You’re not both—”
    But he was already gone, his cheerful whistle and heavy footsteps following him as he pulled open the door and disappeared into the rainy night. For a moment, Colin stood leaning against the examination table, listening to the gentle tap of rain against the